Coming to Terms
by ThinRedPaste
Summary: After nearly dying, a lost soul meets Vash the Stampede, and attempts to come to terms with his past. foul language, graphic violence
1. IntroChapter 1: Jake Krieg

Ok, here's the deal:

This fanfic is set in the Trigun world, and the Trigun characters are in it, primarily Vash, but the main chracter is new. I realize this chapter is kind of short, but I was pressed for time. The next will be longer.

Introduction

  
A lone figure staggered through the desert, tugging at his tan trench coat to shield his scarred, unshaven face from the brutal sandstorm. Boots filled with sand, he stumbled across the dunes aimlessly, blinded by the driving winds. The figure lifted his canteen to his parched lips, but to no avail. It had been empty for hours, the last drop gone long before the storm began. He dropped the flask in disgust, allowing it to swing on its strap and slap against his exhausted thigh. Taking another step, the figure's legs gave out and he collapsed, face down, in the sand.

As the world grew dark, Jake Krieg accepted that he was going to die. Rolling his head to the side, he allowed a dry whisper to escape his mouth, inaudible over the roar of the sandstorm. He said, "Well, shit," and blacked out.

Chapter 1: Jake Krieg

Jerked suddenly into conciousness, Jake sat up in bed, panting heavily. He looked around at his unfamiliar surroundings uneasily, wiping the cold sweat from his forhead with a shaking hand as questions formed in his mind.

"What the hell?" he thought aloud, "How did I get here?"

Jake thought back, remembered the desert, remembered collapsing. He remembered the nightmare that had awakened him. Always the same, Jake had the dream nearly every night. A sea of blood covered his dreamscape, corpses afloat like sponges. Corpses he recognized. Corpses he left in towns and sprawls of desert in the real world. People made corpses by Jake himself. Thier bullet wounds were geysers of blood, adding to the knee-deep pool Jake stood in. The only thing that ever changed was the body count, increasing with each new kill.

Jake sat, with his hand over his eyes for some time, trying to shake off the dream and the memories. When he finally removed his hand from his face, Jake took in the room more deeply. It was dark, the curtains drawn to keep out the sunlight. He sat on a bed in the corner, with a small bedside table next to him. On this table rested his pistols, a pair of two-tone Desert Eagle .44s. Their tones were inverse to each other; one had a black slide and chrome frame, the other a chrome slide on a black frame. He took these up, which both drove away the uneasy feelings, and brought back the memories of the men whose tickets he had punched with them. On the far side of the room, Jake's coat hung next to the door, on the opposite side of which was a small wooden dresser. Jake's attention snapped to the door as the knob began to turn, and the door to creak open. Light streamed in, silhouetteing an extraordinarily tall, brown haired woman in the doorway. Upon seeing Jake's guns in his hands, she yelped in surprise and immediately closed the door.

Jake stared, wide-eyed, at the entrance to the room for several seconds before vaulting from the bed and running to the door. He tossed his guns onto the dresser and turned the knob, but the door was held shut from the other side. "Hey!" Jake shouted, "Listen, if I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead by now. Now come on, open the door."


	2. Chapter 2: Hopeless

Chapter 2: The Source of Grief

A high-pitched, almost child-like, female voice responded, muffled by the door, "Only if you put your guns down."

"Already did."

The door slowly opened a crack while the tall woman peeked through. Then, seeing he really had put his pistols aside, she straightened and opened it the whole way.

"My name's J-" Jake suddenly remembered the sizable bounty on his head, "-iim. Jim... uhh... Pete...Peterson. Jim Peterson" He cringed at the pisspoor coverup, extending his hand.

The tall woman took his hand in her vise-like grip, nearly breaking it as she pumped it several times. "Milly Thompson," she said brightly, "You sure are lucky, Mr. Peterson. You were half dead when my friend found you."

"Your friend?" Jake asked. _Holy shit, it actually worked,_ he thought to himself with an incredulous half-grin.

"Oh, you haven't met him, that's right. Wait here, I'll go get him," she said, speeding out of the room.

_Hm_, Jake thought, _Nice girl. _He picked up his guns, spinning them on his fingers and dropping them at his sides as he had done so many times before. He tilted his head to the side as he heard them clatter to the floor, mildly confused. Looking down, Jake saw that his holsters werent at their usual spots, low on his outer thighs. Instead, they were hanging on the hook next to his coat. He shook his head with a chuckle and a grin at his mistake, and bent to retrieve his firearms.

Jake placed the weapons in their holsters on the wall, as a fairly tall man with spikey blonde hair walked into the room.

"Hey, there, Mr. Peterson," the man said with a friendly smile as he extended his hand, "Erichs. Just Erichs." Jake shook his hand, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"You look familiar... Have I seen you before?" Jake could swear he had, but couldnt think of where.

"Maybe... I have the same feeling." The two looked at each other intently. The man who stood before Jake was dressed in a rather drab grayish long sleeved shirt and equally muted pants, both of which seemed to go against his wild standing up hairstyle and stylish orange shades. He wore one earring, and had a small mole under his aqua eye. A sudden image of a faded, yellowed sheet of paper flickered into Jake's mind. It read: "WANTED, DEAD OR ALIVE: Vash The Stampede. $$60,000,000,000 REWARD," with a picture of a man bearing striking resemblance to the one Jake was talking to.

Jake's eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped, and he pointed, stammering at the man in sudden recognition. Less than a second later, Vash did the same.

"Y-" They shouted in unison.

"You're-!" They continued.

"Vash the Stampede!" yelled Jake.

"Jake Krieg!" screamed Vash.

Both men dropped into alert crouches, circling one another slowly, waiting for the other to attack.

"Grrrrrrr," suggested Jake quietly.

"Rrrrrrrr," explained Vash in a hushed voice.

"Well?" Jake said, sneering as he circled.

"Well what?" Vash replied in a smartassed tone.

"Well are we fighting or not?" Jake asked, raising an eyebrow and halting his circle.

"I'd rather not," Vash said, as he too stopped.

Jake straightened back up and exhaled, "Good. You're a smart man," he said in a cocky tone.

Vash relaxed as well, "You know, I'm not so brutal as people make me out to be. Actually, I don't want to hurt anyone at all, I just want to live a quiet, normal life."

"Bounty like that, its not gonna happen for ya, pal. I'm not sure I belive you anyway."

Milly walked back into the room at this point, accompanied by a short, black haired woman dressed in white with blue stockings.

Vash inquired, "Why's that, Jake? Can I call you Jake?"

"You're going to anyway, I can tell. But you don't get the biggest bounty in teh world by being a nice guy, Vash. I didnt get my relatively small one that way, that's for damn sure." Jake spat.

"Jake?", Milly asked huffily, "I thought your name was Jim?"

"Oh that? Yeah... that was just a lie. I didnt want you guys to know who I was, but the Humanoid Typhoon here recognized me." Jake said to Milly, who had a miffed expression, "He did the same thing, by the way. Told me his name was Alex or somesuch nonsense."

Milly glared at Vash.

"What about this bounty you mentioned," said the short woman sternly. _She seems kind of bitchy, _Jake thought.

"What about it? Its nowhere near Vash's. $$300,000, last time I checked. Course, they'd say I added a few offenses since then." Jake said to her.

Vash broke his uncharacteristic silence, "Offenses? What kind of offenses, exactly?"

"Killings, mostly. I think I'm up to 47, now." Jake replied, matter-of-factly.

Vash's face began to turn red, "You bastard. You don't have any respect for life. Almost a _contempt_, it seems," he said with an angry expression, restraining himself from yelling, "I don't under-"

Jake turned to Vash, interrupting him, "Its not like I had a choice!"

"You always have a choice!" Vash said, trying even harder to keep his voice down, "No one has the right to take the life of another!"

"I never said I had the right!" Jake shouted, grabbing the collar of Vash's shirt, "I said I didnt have a choice!"

"Yes you-" Vash began.

"NO I DIDN'T! It was them or me!" Jake bellowed as he pushed Vash against the wall, "Not just me, it was them or me and the woman I was there to help!" The strength began to leave Jake's voice, "There were ten of them," he explained, "I was way outgunned. The only way out was through. I killed them, all but one. That was what started it. If I had killed the last one, I wouldnt have had a bounty at all. Wouldn't have had to kill anyone else. 

"That bastard," Jake continued, "He goes to the police, says I attacked them for no reason. No reason! Shit... you know what they were planning on doing to that poor girl? Sons of bitches, they deserved what they got. They deserved way worse. Anyway, the asshole cops believe the little shit, seeing as he didnt have any criminal record and I had gone to jail once for wrecking a bar after I got dumped when I was younger." Jake let go of Vash and sat on the bed, gradually losing his anger and becoming more and more depressed in his remembrance as he spoke, "So they broke down my door, stormed in, and beat the shit out of me. They were hauling me in, said I was gonna be executed, so I broke loose and stole one of thier guns. I shot one of them in the leg, the other in the arm, and ran like hell. They put a price on my head after that, 1,000 doublebucks at first, for 'murder, assaulting police with intent to kill, and resisting arrest.'"

Everyone stood silently as Jake sighed with grief, "Then bounty hunters started tracking me down. Little punkasses at first, didnt know what they were doing. Got by without hurting them too bad. But each one bumped up my price just a little, till I had some big name guys after me. Guys like... shit, what was that guy's name? Constance Rifle or some crap like that. Those kind of guys were relentless. I couldn't get away, we ended up in a real gunfight, and I killed them too. 38 bounty hunters, all totalled. Each one raised the bar just that much more. I don't know how long I can keep it up. I don't want to kill anybody, I just don't know any other way." Jake covered his eyes with his hand as he began to sob, "Every night... I have horrible nightmares... All the people... they're people I killed! I'm afraid to sleep, It's driving me insane. I don't know what to do..."

Vash and Milly both walked over and sat next to him. "As long as you realize what you've done," Vash said as Milly hugged him comfortingly and petted the back of his head, making "shh, shh" noises, "There's still hope for you. I think we can guide this wayward soul back to the right path, don't you, Meryl?"

"...perhaps," Said the short woman, presumably Meryl, unenthusiastically.


	3. Chapter 3: Source of Grief

Jake struggled to regain his composure, shaking off Milly's comforting embrace reluctantly and standing as he wiped his eyes. He unsuccessfully tried to pass off a sob as a chuckle and replaced his melancholy expression with a faltering smirk that somehow gave an even stronger indication of his morose mood. "But hey," he said as he grabbed his coat, "What're ya gonna do, ya know? I'm a murderous ass, I'll never change. Its too late for me."

"No," Milly said, "I don't believe that." She stood and looked at Jake intently, and one could tell she truly meant it.

Jake gave her a slight smile. "That's sweet of you," He said, placing his pistols in thier holsters, "I'm touched, but a nice girl like you shouldn't get mixed up with guys like me. Listen, I appreciate you guys' help, but this is where we part ways." Jake sauntered out with his usual cocky demeanor before anyone could muster a reply.

Vash and the girls stood silent for a moment after Jake left, until Vash walked outside a few minutes later and suddenly stopped on the street. From down the road, a large ruckus was being raised in the nearby saloon. Vash sprinted to the door and rushed inside.

Jake extricated himself from the wreckage of a wooden table as a huge, muscular man cracked his knuckles. "What?" Jake said, staggering to his feet and swaying unsteadily, "That all you got?"

The exceptionally large guy Krieg was fighting charged across the room, screaming wildly. His boots thundered on the floor as he stopped short.

Krieg was standing next to the smashed table, holding his pistols sideways with his arms crossed, pointed at the man. "I think that's quite enough." Krieg said, thumbing back the hammers on his Desert Eagles. He placed his fingers on the triggers, taking the safeties off as the huge fighter produced a sub-machinegun with lightning speed.

"Wait!" Vash shouted from the doorway, "There's no need for anyone to die!"

Krieg spoke to Vash, keeping his visual focus on his foe, "Oh, for the lo... Piss off, man. This has nothing to do with you. Its him or me, get it?" Krieg lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes, just visible over the top of his sunglasses, "an' I got no intention of dying."

Vash took a step toward the standoff, putting on a friendly smile and patting the big guy on the shoulder, "Come on, now. Put the gun away. I promise my friend will, too."

"Who the hell _is_ this dumbass?" the large man said to Krieg.

"The most dangerous man in the world, second to me. Vash the Stampede," Krieg grinned, even giving a small chuckle, "Not what I expected either."

Vash widened his put on smile, "There we go, conversation."

Krieg shook his head ever so slightly, relaxing just a bit, "Mr. Give-Peace-A-Chance here seems to think we could better solve our problems through a game of Scrabble or some shit."

"What the hell?" asked the man with the SMG, turning his head to Vash, "You really _are_ a dumbass." With that, and without turning his gaze back to Krieg, the man opened fire.

"AH SHIT!" Krieg screamed, throwing himself to the side and rolling on his shoulder to come up in a dead sprint next to the wall of the saloon. "SHIT SHIT SHIT!" He added, turning at the corner as bullets ripped pockmarks in the wall inches behind him. He threw himself into the air again, diving over the bar and returning fire from his magnum handguns. He got off four shots before dropping below the bar and slamming back first on the stone floor with an "Oof."

Red geysers erupted from the chest of Krieg's target, and he slumped to the floor in a bloody heap. His arms spasmed as he fell, causing the smg in his hand to fire randomly. Krieg heard a scream, and instantly vaulted the bar with lightning speed. Bullets tore at the wall, gouging a ragged line toward three barmaids who stood, frozen with terror. Jake Krieg sprinted faster than he thought he could, throwing himself under the stream of lead and colliding with the women even as Vash shouted for them to get down. Jake thumped to the floor between two of the women, but he had misjudged the distance to the third, and looked up just in time to see the line of bullets rake across her chest. Her look of surprise and terror intensified as the wall was splattered with blood. Every part of Jake's body screamed except his mouth, which stayed perfectly still as the waitress collapsed, blood spurting from her mouth and chest as she fell. Jake lay only inches from her as she hit the floor with a gurgling thud. He looked directly into her face as she struggled to breathe with a badly punctured lung.

"Oh God!" Jake managed to say after a few seconds, drawing himself nearer and looking over the woman's wounds. He didnt need to look hard to confirm his fear; she had taken a bullet through her left lung, and the angle was such that it had most likely clipped the edge of her heart as well. She was going to die, and nothing could save her. She was looking into his face as he kneeled next to her, and a look of despair crossed her face as she saw Jake's reaction to her wound. Jake fought to contain his tears as he cradled the dying woman in his arms. The front of his shirt and coat sleeves became covered in blood, but Jake didnt care. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry," Jake said, knowing what difference that would make. He held the complete stranger in his arms as she died, and sobbed uncontrollably while her body went limp in his hands.

For nearly ten minutes, Jake didn't move at all, he merely kneeled on the floor, cradling the waitress he had failed to save. _This is my fault, _Jake thought as he wept, _She died because of me._

Vash stood over Jake until he finally rose, gently placing the waitress on the floor as he stood. 

"You—" Vash began.

"Killed her..." Jake interrupted, "I know."

"You did everything you could," One of the surviving waitresses said, putting a hand on Jake's shoulder. 

"And you saved both our lives," the other barmaid injected, "You didnt kill Mary. You did a hell of a lot more than most guys would have."

What the waitresses said next wounded Jake more deeply than any bullet could. They said, "Thank you."

Jake nearly collapsed back into tears as Vash the Stampede spun him by the shoulder to come face to face. "You're up to 49 now. If you hadnt killed him, She'd still be alive, too. Hope you're happy."

Jake was silent.

The waitresses were not. "And what the hell gives you the right to criticize him, you blondey headed shit? You just stood there like everybody else! You should be ashamed of yourself. All of you should! This man's the only decent fella in the whole bunch a ya!"

"And how do you know he wouldnt have shot her anyhow? He coulda used her as a hostage, or just started shooting people to draw this guy out, or even tripped and shot her by accident, for God's sake!"

Jake silently walked out with his head hung as the barmaids berated Vash, boarded a bus for Inepril, and got the hell out of town before rumors started to spread.


	4. Chapter 4: Soldier On

Chapter 4: Soldier On  
  
Jake got off the bus in Inepril, his guns clearly visible under his open trench coat, puffing idly on a cigarette and scanning the area over the top of his shades. His eyes were bloodshot, the sunglasses hiding the huge, sleep-deprived bags under them. The town looked astoundingly average, rows of sand-beaten buildings lining the dusty streets. People milled about, going about their day, oblivious to the perpetual danger they were in. Or perhaps they were aware of the danger, and they simply didnt care. A few shady characters shifted around, but few dared to try anything in the broad daylight; the constant danger could suddenly triple itself should anyone catch them.  
  
Hoping to drown his troubles, Jake lethargically staggered into the nearest bar, his mind still replaying the events of the previous day. He saw flashes of the shootout; the barmaid falling in slow motion, inches beyond his reach. The scene replayed over and over in Jake's mind, driving him mad. The idea of entering a bar again troubled Jake, but the thought of downing a dozen shots of whiskey eased his mind. He hadnt slept the night before; there was no way he could bear the dead waitress showing up in his nightmares.  
  
Jake pushed open the double swinging saloon doors and took two steps through before he noticed the situation inside. Removing his sunglasses and putting them in his coat pocket, Krieg surveyed the bar. With a sigh, he let out a weary "God dammit."  
  
The bar was in the middle of a hostage situation, all ten of the patrons lined up against the back wall and tied up while four men covered them with shotguns. As Krieg looked at the men, two of them spun around, cocking their shotguns and aiming them at him.  
  
Krieg looked idly at the men, picking some lint off of his shoulder. "You don't know me, do you?" he asked casually, "I mean, you have no idea what's going to happen if you dont put those down."  
  
"Oh, I got an inkling," said a particularly cocky criminal, lining up his shot.  
  
Krieg chuckled. "Liar. Ever hear of Vash the Stampede?"  
  
All four men visibly faltered, and the hostages' eyes went wide. Krieg chuckled again, a low, mocking chortle.  
  
"You're Vash the Stampede!?" the cocky creep said incredulously.  
  
"Pfff! No, you dipshit. Vash is a pussy. I had him pissed at me in the last town; I don't got a scratch on me." Krieg tilted his head to the side, eliciting a crunch from his neck, "No, my name's Jake Krieg. Drop the guns, or I drop you."  
  
"What about all the blood on your coat?"  
  
"You think that's my blood? Hell no."  
  
One man started to lower his shotgun, but was immediately punished for it. The cocky man, now obviously the leader, bashed his subordinate in the face with the butt of his gun, shouting, "Pick that sumbitchin shotgun back up, you weakass prick! He's bullshittin', tryin to scare us!"  
  
"He's gone."  
  
"WHAT?" the boss turned back to Krieg, who was no longer there. Grabbing one of his cronies, the leader yelled, "Where the fuck did he go? What did you say?"  
  
"I believe," Krieg said, holding one of the criminals in a choke hold with a gun to his head, "he said 'gack,' but I could be wrong. Drop em."  
  
"Hah! Kill the shit, see what I care. More money for me.  
  
"Wow, you guys are close," Krieg said sarcastically, pressing the muzzle of his Desert Eagle against his hostage's head.  
  
The boss rolled his eyes, "Oh, for fuck's sake, I'll do it myself." He fired on his own man, knocking both the former criminal and Krieg to the floor.  
  
Krieg was pinned under the quite literally dead weight of the man with the shotgun wound as the thug leader jacked the pump on his shotgun, taking aim again. Without warning, the body was rolled off of Krieg, revealing the gleaming pistols in his hands. The boss's eyes went wide as Jake fired a single shot.  
  
The bullet tore through the leader's heart, exploding through his back in a large burst of red liquid. Shock registered on the man's face as he dropped backward, dead before he hit the floor. Not missing a beat, Krieg had one of his pistols aimed squarely at each of the remaining targets' heads in less than a second.  
  
"One last time," he said from his spot on the floor, rage in his exhausted eyes, "Drop your guns. Please."  
  
They did as they were told, kicking the weapons over to Krieg.  
  
"Good boys," Krieg said, standing, "Now get to work untying these people."  
  
Krieg kept a gun on each of the men as they untied the hostages, his weary eyes drifting shut time and again. He tried to stay alert, but his unsteady wobbling continued, his adrenaline rush worn off. "Ok..." he said, "you guys can take it from here. I'll just take one of their guns."  
  
Krieg picked up the shotguns at his feet in turn, jacking the pumps on them repeatedly. Gathering up the shells, he picked which gun he wanted to keep, slung it over his shoulder, and walked toward the door.  
  
"Jacob Krieg!" blared a megaphone outside, "This is the police! We know you're in there! Release your hostages, lay down your weapons, and come out, with your hands above your head!"  
  
Jake staggered to the window, leaning up against the wall next to it. Peeking outside, he saw dozens of armed officers, all aiming at the front door of the bar. "Oh, bloody hell," he said, leaning back on the wall. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and trying to think.  
  
"Mister Krieg?" one of the released workers said tentatively, timidly approaching.  
  
Jake looked up at the woman, taking his hand off of his face.  
  
"Uhh, I was just thinking, you know, since you helped us out... There... There's a ladder to the roof in the back room."  
  
Jake walked up to the woman and put his hand on her cheek. "Thanks a lot. Can I ask all of you for one other favor?"  
  
The general consensus was affirmative.  
  
"Great, thanks. While I go up the ladder, I need you all to run out screaming; distract the cops while I get away."  
  
Jake went to the stockroom door, "Ok, ready everybody?" Jake smiled at the shy waitress, "Hey, for the record, I'm actually a nice guy. Catch you later." As Jake disappeared into the back, he shouted,  
  
"GO!"  
  
Everyone but the crooks ran out the front door in a chaotic mass, screaming hysterically as a lone, trench coated figure made the leap to a neighboring rooftop unnoticed. 


	5. Chapter 5: Sleep tight

Chapter 5:

Jumping from roof to roof, Jake continued down the row of structures, finally climbing down a fire escape and climbing through a broken window into a small, abandoned business. _Lay low_, he thought, _wait for them to give up, then get moving. The cops know you're here, they know your face. Wait until nightfall, then get the hell outta Dodge._ Settling into a corner behind the counter, Jake pulled off his coat and concealed himself with it as best he could, hoping it would at least pass a cursory glance. He kept the shotgun in his hands, hoping he wouldn't have to use it. Despite his best efforts, sleep deprivation soon took over, and Jake slipped into unconciousness.

Jake Krieg stood, knee-deep in red fluid. Blood. He held out his hands; they dripped with it. His coat was drenched, the smell of blood was overpowering. Ripping the coat off, he heaved it as hard as he could into the distance. He tugged at his matted, soaked hair, pulling it out in clumps. His skin bled the blood of others, of those whose lives Jake had cut short. He tore at it, ripping it away and throwing it aside. Looking at the surface of the blood, Jake saw his reflection and retched, sickened by the sight of the person he had become. He pulled his guns from their holsters and shot the reflection, over and over, until his ammunition was as spent as he was. Dropping the pistols, Jake watched as most of the lake of blood evaporated. He dropped the shotgun as well, and saw his reflection regenerate, the violence and scars of the past several years melting away. Jake stood stock-still, looking at the image of one Jacob M. Krieg, a man well-liked by the community and reasonably successful in his life. Then, he saw another reflection, standing in front of him. He saw the man who had reported him to the police those years ago.

Krieg looked up to see the man aiming his own guns at him. He screamed with rage and grabbed his shotgun, pressing the barrel against the man's face. The man smiled a wicked smile, and Jake suddenly realized he was in a standoff with himself. Dropping his gun, Jake saw the rest of the blood lake vanish as the other Krieg pulled the trigger.

Suddenly snapping awake, Jake nearly shot his foot off. He eased his grip on the shotgun and pulled back the coat. Darkness. He had managed to stay unnoticed all day, and now it was time to get a move on. Pulling his coat on, Jake hopped back out the way he had come in and tried to keep his face hidden. It didn't work long.

"Jake Krieg!" called an official sounding voice, "Hold it!"

Jake's hand instinctively went for the shotgun, hanging inside his coat. He stopped walking, but did not turn around. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the town's sherriff standing behind him on the street.

"Look, I know you're wanted and all that, but the bartender told me about what you did, so I've decided to cut you some slack, alright? Let me make this completely clear: I don't want you here, and I should shoot you dead, but you saved a good friend of mine, so I'm not going to. Not for a few days, anyway. If you're not here after a few days, I guess I can't shoot you, can I?" The sherriff turned and started to walk away. "Just don't stir up any trouble, or there wont even be anything left of you to bury."

Jake breathed a sigh of relief and walked on into the night, regaining his usual cocky swagger.

"I'm real sorry, miss, but we're all out of pudding," the clerk said with a shrug, "Some more should be coming in tomorrow."

"No pudding?" Milly fumed, on the verge of crying, "Why are you being so mean to me?"

"Look, miss, there's not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it," the clerk insisted, "somebody just bought the last few packs."

"Come on, Milly," Meryl pleaded, tugging on the tall woman's sleeve, "he said there'll be more tomorrow, we can get it then, ok?"

Milly looked defeated, "Oh, alright."


	6. Chapter 6:Titles are hard

Chapter 6

Jake sat back in his hotel room, poring over the day's events as he tossed a can of vanilla pudding in the trash. "Man," he said to the walls, "why can't I ever have a good day?"

A muffled voice outside fumed, "Oooh, I wish I could get my hands on the guy who bought up all the pudding!"

Jake looked at the spoon sticking out of his mouth.

"Ugh, let it go, Milly," complained another voice.

"Hey, it's the great big one and the little bitchy one," Jake said, taking his feet off of the table and grabbing another can of pudding.

Opening the door, Jake stepped out into the hallway. "Well, I'll be damned."

The two turned to look, Meryl with an expression of stark distrust, Milly with a warm smile as always. "Oh! Hello, Mr. Krieg," they said in unison, giving off two distinctly different impressions. Meryl walked on, but Milly stayed behind to chat. "I didn't expect to see you he-" Milly stopped mid word, as she noticed the object in Jake's hand, "Where did you get that?"

"Get what?" Jake replied, knowing full well, "Oh, the pudding? Just down the street, I think I got the last of it."

"You jerk!" Milly huffed, "what about other people who wanted some?"

Jake tried to turn a smirk into a frown, feigning hurt feelings, "Jerk? Well, I was going to offer you some, but now that you gone and said that…" He started to open the can.

Milly's eyes welled up and seemed to wobble in her head as she apologized on full auto. "Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry!"

Jake chuckled and tossed her the pudding, "Aw, I was just messin anyway. Gotta find your own spoon though, I only have the one."

Milly beamed, "Thanks, Mr. Krieg! Mr. Vash says you're no good, but anyone who likes pudding can't be all bad. In fact, I think pudding is one of the-"

"Vash around? I need to talk to him."

"Oh sure! I'll get him." Milly happily bounded away with her snack.

Jake stood in the well-maintained hotel hallway, leaning back against the wall as he thought about what to say. Should he tell him about his dream? Should he just tell him to fuck off? What made him say he wanted to talk to the humanoid typhoon anyway? Closing his eyes, Jake tilted his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Heard you got two more," a familiar voice scolded

"Then you heard wrong." Jake opened his eyes and saw Vash the Stampede standing in the hall, looking pissed in his trademark red coat and yellow shades. His arms were crossed, and his face bore a scowl.

"Oh, really?"

"Really really. Yes, one of them's mine, but the other was a teamkill. His boss shot him."

"Also heard you got two alive and saved a bunch of people," Vash continued, with a slight smile, "Was that part right?"

"Yeah, the Sherriff decided to suspend the manhunt because of it."

Vash gave one low, hollow laugh, "So you did it for your own good?"

"I did it because they were amateurs, it was easy to scare them into giving up."

"What about pros? They don't get the luxury?"

"Look, don't get all high and mighty with me, Mr. July AND Augusta," Jake was becoming irritated, "You're no angel yourself."

"I've made mistakes, yes, and I think about them every day. All I can do is try not to make the same mistakes again."

"God, you sound like a damn self-help book. It's not like I want to go around killing people, I have nightmares about it every time I fall asleep. Look at my eyes, do they look like the eyes of a man who's happy about his life? Night after night, I have the same dream. When I fell asleep today though, it was different. Almost… hopeful, but then tragic…"

"What do you mean?" Vash asked, then with a terrible Freud impression, "Tell me about zis dream."

"Forget it, its nothing. I just need to think about it, that's all."

"Well, at least you feel bad about it. That's more than some people. Come on, you look like you need a drink." Vash smiled and waved for Jake to come with him.

"You buying?"

"Sure, for myself."

"Ha."


End file.
